


Kirschwein

by rowan_raven_rogue (shackalacklargebottom)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, let's see matt thrust the harpoon of canon into this in like five episodes, somewhere between AU and canon-divergent?, technically mechanically compliant, we can discuss the meta of greater restoration vs heal if you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23924467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shackalacklargebottom/pseuds/rowan_raven_rogue
Summary: Waylaid in a small town ravaged by monster attacks, the Mighty Nein try to leave the place better than they found it - and discover some missing pieces of Caleb's past.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 13
Kudos: 70





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> *will possibly edit the prologue/chapter 1 when it is not 3am

“We have good news and bad news,” Fjord begins, seconds before Beau elbows explosively through the pair of servers gossiping behind them, pulls up a barstool with the energy of pulling someone into a headlock, and sits.

“This guy’s a fucking asshole,” she announces to the group, before downing half the ale she swiped from one of the now-scandalized servers on her way past. “We should just cut our losses and bounce.”

“Fjord says there is also good news,” Caleb prods, low, beneath the warm garble of tavern conversation.

“The starosta has time to meet three days from now to discuss his contract for us,” Fjord continues, sourly flipping a silver piece to one of the servers as she marches over with a second ale and sets it in front of him. She glares frostily at Beau, but seeing Beau settle into a glower that would win first prize in a glowering contest, she sniffs primly and goes back to her gossipping companion.

“Is that the good news or the bad news?” Veth asks, fingering a silver that was not in her hand a moment ago.

“Well, uh. Both, I guess. Bad because we have to wait, but good because he wants to contract us.”

“He’s fucking loaded. We went through like, fifteen hallways just to get to his chambers and he wouldn’t even come out and talk to us. Like, hello?  _ You  _ summoned  _ us _ here!” Beau says, and the stool beneath her briefly wiggles and sways onto two legs before righting itself.

“I thought this was urgent. I thought his people were missing?” Yasha murmurs.

“I mean, I suppose I could take us home to Rosohna for a few days,” Caleb says. “If we even want to return. I don’t know how direly we are in need of his gold, or of the favor of a person like that…”

“Pardon me,” says the barkeep, a tall woman with brown skin and pointed ears, “but you lot wouldn’t happen to be the adventurin’ types, would you? Only because if it’s work you’re after, or coin, there’s plenty of both to be had. Ever since the creatures started attackin’, and folks’ve been taken…”

The Nein look to each other, and to the drawn, hollow face of the woman behind the bar.

“I, for one, think it might be nice to just. Help some regular people out for a while. We’ve been doing a lot of,” and Caduceus waves his hand as he speaks, “big, eventful. Stuff. If we go back to Rosohna, there’s no telling what we’re gonna get roped into from there.”

“You’ll want to find Leo in the mornin’, then,” the barkeep nods, sagely, in tandem to Caduceus’ point. “He usually leads the crews in rebuildin’ when things like this happen. No doubt you saw the meetin’ hall on your way in, ‘s where them monsters hit us yesterday…” and off she trails.

They had seen the meeting hall, merely a pile of lumber and broken glass in the center of town. Children had clustered about, blue beneath the eyes and scurrying away at loud noises.

There is a long pause.

“There  _ are _ monsters here? I mean, you’ve seen them?” Fjord says, slowly.

“Sure have. Most everyone has. Used to be just folks’ animals were killed, or missin’, but they’re gettin’ bolder. Takin’  _ people _ now, and not leavin’ ‘em all cut up in a field, neither. You’d think,” she said, voice hollowing further at the remembrance of the creatures, “it was just another person, ‘cept regular folk don’t move near so fast, and when they turn and you see their faces…” she ends with a shudder.

“Fine,” says Beau, finally throwing up her hands. “We wait it out. Maybe run some errands for. Whoever. In town. But if this starosta guy’s a prick to us after, I’m not doing shit for him. And, and,” she says, wiping her mouth of the other half of her ale, “I’m taking his money, as like. An inconvenience. Fee.”

“It’s only a couple of days. This place seems… nice,” Jester says, warm and soft. “Quaint. These people need help. What, we’re gonna fight some monsters, maybe help with some chores. What’s the worst that could happen?” and surreptitiously, she wraps her tail around Caleb’s leg, beneath the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester helps some injured townsfolk in a healer's tent, and helps a new friend tell the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *will possibly edit the prologue/chapter 1 when it's not 3am

Despite evidence to the contrary, she thinks, Jester really is not suited for healer’s work.

To  _ heal _ is one thing, certainly; one whisper to the Traveler, and a wound in Beau’s shoulder closes, or a burn on  Caduceus’ palm blisters over and cools. But the  _ work _ of healing - bandaging, applying poultice, splinting - that remains a mystery, even after the morning spent in the red-haired healer woman’s tent.  _ A body really does most of the work by itself,  _ Jester thinks, diligently elevating a young man’s shattered leg all the same, the way the woman had instructed. She croons something low and nonsensical to soothe him, as he half-cries in his half-sleep, and is thankful that her mama taught her at least a bit about the work of consolation.

To be perfectly honest, she might have been of slightly more use on the builder’s crew. Slightly.

“That’s very good, dear,” the red-haired woman smiles, only with the corners of her eyes. She finishes applying  delicate-smelling balm to the frizzy side of a dwarf woman’s face, then turns to Jester. “You learn quickly.”

“Not always,” Jester admits. “Only because you showed me. If I had to learn this from a book or something, or if you were just talking me through it I would have no idea what was going on.”

“We learn in different ways,” nods the woman, in her thick, familiar accent. “I learned much of what I know from books, but they do not, ah, always have the full story.” The young man lying next to Jester groans again, and she reflexively lays a hand on his arm and hums something lullsome. “A page cannot teach that,” she says, softer, indicating.

“I could do more,” Jester ponders, “but he seems okay for now, and if anyone else gets brought in that might be worse, I don’t want to… I’d rather save it.”

“More wisdom.”

“But if no one else comes today, I can fix it no problem,” Jester says, and puffs just a touch of green sparks from her fingertips, for effect.

The older woman’s eyes crease, again, the way they had earlier that morning, when Jester first arrived, when she first set her fingertips to the gashes clawed in a half-elf child’s back and asked  _ Please, Traveller, make it stop hurting. _ Not in a smiling way, and not for longer than an instant, but long enough for Jester to see, and to vanish the green sparks with a small noise like a weasel’s squeak.

“You are talented,” murmurs the red-haired woman, and the rain slowly pattering away at the canvas above them drums a little harder and faster.

“I hope Caduceus is okay,” Jester says, as if she could look through canvas walls and summon him, dripping but cheerful.

“He is allergic to water?” the woman says, unblinking, and it takes Jester seconds to realize she’s joking.

“Yes,” she deadpans back, in her best mimic of Caleb - and there was a pang, she hadn’t seen him all day - but the woman actually laughs, small but full.

“He will be alright,” she says. “I am sure the apothecary is… overworked, today.”

“He’s better at this kind of thing,” Jester says. “Healing without, uh. Cheating. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I am grateful for your help,” the red-haired woman says, firmly, seating herself by the small brazier in the center of the tent. “Normally, they,” with a small circle of the hand, to her patients, “would be cared for at the hospital, but. You saw the state of the hospital, after...” And after a long pause, “I do not think of it as cheating.”

Jester sits, mindful of the patients resting. The woman continues to stare into the glowing coals.

“We simply have different ways of accomplishing the same task,” she says, finally. “You are skilled as you are, dear.”

A blush purples faintly over Jester’s cheeks “You sound like my - friend,” she says.  _ How do I refer to Caleb, exactly? _

“Hmm?” says the woman. “She is smart, then.”

“He’s so smart,” says Jester, eagerness creeping in at the edges of her voice. “I meant you sound the same like you have the same accent. He’s Zemnian, too.”

“Is he a healer, also?”

Jester shakes her head. “He usually needs me to like, put his arms and legs back on after a fight or something. But he’s really good at other stuff.”

“A mage, then,” and that same small ghosting look gathers in the corner of her eyes, and dissipates just as quickly. “That will be useful, if your aim is to hunt these creatures. They are quite strong.” There is a small pop from one of the glowing coals. “My husband was a soldier, and he only barely managed to slay one of them, once. I nearly had to put his arms and legs back on myself.” A suggestion of a smile turns at the woman’s mouth. “He is… not in his fighting prime, of course. That was one of the few times I have thanked the gods for his hard-headedness. I think he was simply too stubborn to bleed out.”

“Oh my God, Caleb is  _ so stubborn _ sometimes,” agreement spills from Jester, and the woman cocks an eyebrow.

“Your - friend?” she says, with a suggestion, lilted and understanding, and Jester takes pause.

“Well - yes, and also - I mean, we’re together, but - it’s so  _ hard,  _ when we’re with this big group, you know, like - you never get any time to yourself as it is, and it hasn’t been that long…” Jester’s words trail off into a small, exasperated sigh.

“My goodness,” the woman laughs again, this time fuller. “I do not miss being young, my dear, it seems just as complicated as I remember.”

“It  _ wouldn’t be,  _ if…” and Jester trails off again.  _ If we weren’t worried about everybody making it weird?  _ or for a shameful instant,  _ if he could let himself be happy for longer than a few minutes at a time?  _ although that one Jester quickly sweeps away.

The woman filled her pause. “Well, I’m sorry to say you signed up for stubbornness with that one, if he’s a Zemnian boy. My husband is this way, and my son.” There is a hitch to her voice, near the end, catching over  _ son  _ in a way Jester can’t miss. The pitched canvas above them thrums harder still beneath the rain. “He was a mage, as well.”

“Your son?” Jester says, carefully.

“Yes,” and the woman’s voice peters out into something like a whisper, carrying something heavy and unmistakable.

“I’m sorry,” Jester says simply.

“Thank you,” the woman replies. The wind and rain somewhat quiet, and eventually she picks up again with the smallest of shakes of her head. “From where in the Zemni Fields is your friend, dear?”

“Oh, uh. I’m not actually sure, he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Nodding, “Many lives were difficult, before, after the first war. I cannot blame him. Well, if you are going to be in town for a few days, you are welcome to pay us a visit. Gods know there aren’t enough friendly faces near, especially for strangers.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

“And if it helps, you can tell him we’re from Blumenthal. He probably won’t know where that is, it’s such a small village, but. Who knows.”

“I will.”

“I’m back, Miss Una,” the canvas flap at the front of the tent mutters open, and Caduceus ducks inside, stray strands of pink slicked to his otherwise-placid face. “They were out of yarrow, I hope you don’t mind, I asked for comfrey instead. Jester, I saw the weirdest thing,” he says, depositing a large pouch on a nearby work table. “I thought this guy out there was Caleb for a minute, it was  _ freaky. _ ”

“Caduceus,” Jester says, in mock disappointment, hoping the points of her teeth don’t belie the joke, “It wasn’t actually Caleb, right?”

“No, when I got closer it was an older gentleman. One of the guys working on the hospital,” he replies. “They look really similar though. I know everyone’s supposed to have a doppelganger here and there, but. Huh.”

“On the hospital?” Una says, frowning. “The only older man working there would be my husband, I think. Tall, brown hair, short cropped?”

“Yeah! That’s him,” Caduceus says, with seemingly no opinion beyond. He digs through the pouch until he finds a vial of greenish liquid, and turns to crouch over the young woman he had left previously, the one with a deep gash just above her collarbone.

As the glow from the coals dances over the woman’s red hair, something begins to gnaw at Jester.

“Miss Una,” she says, drawing closer, as one might draw close to an animal that may bolt. “You said you were from Blumenthal?”

“Yes?”

“How - when did you come to Druvenlode, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh,” she says, drawing out a small tilt of her head. “It’s been seventeen years, soon.”

“Hmm,” Jester says, hoping her nonchalance can pass for acknowledgement rather than processing her thought. She creeps further still. “Miss Una.”

Something begins to be wary about the woman’s eyes. “Yes, Jester?”

“Why did you and your husband come here?”

She tenses into rigid politeness, even as her crest falls:

“I - we. We were moved here, after the death of my son, Jester.”

“You were moved here? You didn’t move here yourselves?”

“Well, no, we were - this is really not something I would like to discuss, Jester,” says Una.

“Please, forgive me, but - it’s really, really important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“We were offered to move, yes. My son was - he died at school. The Academy offered to relocate us, as recompense.” She tightens further, everywhere but her eyes. “It was difficult to leave, at first, but eventually the memories became too - strong, in that house. And so we accepted.”

“The Academy? The Soltryce Academy?”

“What is this about?” Una stands, and Jester sees Caduceus tense as well, before he finishes his work and slowly turns to face them.

“I can explain everything, I promise, I just - need to know. Your son was a mage? And he died - he died seventeen years ago?”

“Uh, Jester…” she hears Caduceus begin, and he approaches, but her focus is trained on the burning brown eyes of the red-haired woman before her. Una stares, stone-faced, calculating.

“Caduceus, this is like,  _ critically _ important, I need you to trust me,” she says, and perhaps it is because she rarely speaks with such urgency, but he backs down, drawing slowly closer to her instead of between the two women. Jester plays her fingertips over the holy symbol at her belt, and murmurs a plea to the Traveler.

“Please, please forgive me, Miss Una,” she begs, and a shimmering green encircles the woman’s feet. She recoils with a sharp intake of breath. “Please answer my questions, and I promise  _ promise  _ I’ll explain everyhing.”

“Jester…” Caduceus warns again, voice rolling low and docile in an attempt to cool tempers.

“What is your name?”  
  
Una is still and silent.

“Please answer me.”

Quietly: “Una Ermendrud.” The white circle at her feet flares white briefly, then shrinks back to green.

“Is there any other name anyone else ever calls you?”

“No.” Another flare of white.

“Is there any other name anyone else has called you before?”

A brief pause before her next answer, “Una Kohler, before I was married.” Yet another white flare.

Jester’s voice quivers. “Your son died seventeen years ago.”

“My son is dead.” The circle burns white.

“Your son Bren. He has your hair.”

Jester feels a whipcrack surge between them as they lock eyes again. Confusion plays across grief plays across anger plays across love plays across guilt on Una’s face. “Please answer me.”

“Yes.” Once more, white.

Pain lodges at the back of Jester’s throat.

“Tell me a lie now, Miss Una.”

“Jester -”

“ _ Please _ .”

“I - we. We live in R-” and the word rolls and rolls, but she cannot seem to finish it. The circle flares angrily red as she manages “-Rex-xen-trum”, and she stares down, understanding narrowing her eyes as the color fades back to green.

Jester pulls her last question like an arrow from her chest.

“How did he die?”

The whisper cuts over the patter of rain, the reedy keen of the wind:

“A fire. There was a fire.”

The circle momentarily flares white before Jester clenches her fist, and it disappears. 

“There were other students, inside,” Una breathes, continuing. “He was - he went back -”

“I’m sorry, Miss Una, I’m sorry,” she says, resisting, “please don’t call the guards or anything, I can explain, I can -”

“You knew my son.”

Jester feels Caduceus’ hand warm her shoulder on her reply.

“I know your son.”


End file.
